Moveable feasts in this time period include the Feast of Ullr, which is a heathenization of the USA holiday Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving takes place on the fourth Thursday of November each year. The modern secular holiday Wolfenoot also takes place in November. It has been adopted by many heathens and pagans. Last year, 2018, was the first time Wolfenoot was celebrated, and it occurred on the same day as the USA's Thanksgiving, which gave it a boost among those seeking an alternative holiday to celebrate on that day. That also happened to be a full moon, which gave Wolfenoot a boost among those who already howl at the full moon. But Wolfenoot is a fixed date holiday, always on the 23rd of November, not a moveable feast like Thanksgiving.

Stories matter. In fact, human beings have been called “storytelling animals.” Every day we consume stories on the media, in books, films and TV shows. We can spend hours on social media reading the posts of friends, relatives and even total strangers. We hunger for narratives that give us hope, but all too often run into descriptions filled with horror, abuse and despair.

The narratives we’re told and the ones we tell ourselves interact to shape our way of thinking. They provide the context in which we place our experiences and the lens through which we interpret what happens to us. Stories affect our self-esteem, our emotions, and our mental health. They can be empowering or debilitating, life-enhancing or toxic. Though we seldom realize it, our relationship with ourselves and the world depends on stories, especially on the ones we’ve come to accept as “objective truth.” If these tales happen to be destructive, they can wreak havoc on our inner world.

Stories have a powerful grip on the human mind. Research shows that most people are unwilling to change their beliefs even when confronted with facts that contradict them. Facts appeal to the rational mind; hence their power is limited. Beliefs, on the other hand, are often rooted in narratives that we’ve been told from a young age or myths that are constantly cultivated by the media and which we’ve come to accept as facts.

We live in a system based on oppression and exploitation, hence the narratives we’re told are meant to maintain the status quo. Those who are at the top of the social hierarchy maintain power by portraying human beings as inherently greedy and aggressive, blaming on individuals all the evils created by the system itself. Such tales perpetuate norms that create discrimination in order to pit us against each other – men against women, Whites against People of Color, cis straight people against LGBTQI+ folks, locals against immigrants, you name it.

Yet stories also have the power to make us pause and think, to question, and to take action. If we think of them as food for the mind and soul, it’s obvious why we should choose carefully what kinds of narratives we expose ourselves to. Although we can’t close our eyes to the pain of others, we also need the stories that resonate positively with our deepest needs: those that weave into our lives a sense of meaning, as well as those that motivate us towards solidarity and compassion.

Sharing our stories can be a radical action in a society that continuously gaslights us. It’s a way of telling our truth and of validating our perceptions of reality. By choosing to openly discuss our experiences, we’re saying, “we’re here and we matter.” By speaking out, we can also reach out to those who have similar concerns or have possibly experienced similar traumas. Through our narratives we can help ourselves heal and show a path of healing to others.

As a writer, I’ve found it empowering to share some of my own stories as an independent scholar of the ancient world and as an activist in the women’s, LGBTQI+, and antiracist-antifascist movements (see, for example, “Finding Meaning and Inspiration at Midlife”). These two identities may seem very different at first, yet they intersect: by studying the past we can draw valuable lessons for the present and future.

Myth and history can be valuable tools as we try to change the world and heal ourselves. For instance, by exploring the development of gender roles over millennia, we are led to question the dominant narrative that sees women as powerless victims and men as inherent predators. Also, by bringing to light traditions that emphasize our interconnection with nature, we defy the capitalist view of the environment as a set of resources to exploit for profit.

In fact, the past, both historic and mythical, is pregnant with stories that can touch us deeply—narratives that speak of altruism, resistance, and transformation. They often resonate with us because they’re rich in archetypal themes and symbols. Through them we can identify the values that propel us towards a richer and more meaningful existence. They can also offer us the inspiration to take the collective action needed in order to build a different world.

I spend a lot of time telling people that Modern Minoan Paganism is not a reconstructionist tradition. But the issue is actually a little more complicated than that.

When I was at Mystic South this past summer, one of the other presenters, Joseph Beofeld, attended my workshop about Modern Minoan Paganism. What was his presenation about? Reconstructionism! He came up to me afterward and pointed out that even though I had said we aren't a reconstructionist tradition, we use reconstructionist methods extensively. And that's quite true.

We live in the age of anxiety. There is so much stress, bad news and soul-crushing chaos; it is hard to know how to get through each day. But here’s the thing; ancient wisdom is the best way to approach to deal with modern troubles. Try the following tried and true rite.